


Fruits of Labour

by Ira_Dunfort



Series: The Grey Fledgling [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: A Second South Downs Cottage, Attempt at Humor, Desk Sex, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Idiots in Love, Kid Fic, M/M, Paperwork, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy, She/Her Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 19:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20999954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ira_Dunfort/pseuds/Ira_Dunfort
Summary: The one in which Gabriel learns how to cook and a neighbour dug her own grave. No casualties so far.Paperwork getsdone.





	Fruits of Labour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eshnoazot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshnoazot/gifts), [AEpixie7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/gifts).

> Gifted to Eshnoazot because 70% of anything written here is based on our cursed chats.  
Gifted to AEpixie7 since, as the resident expert in Bureaucracy porn, she inspired me to write more myself and helped along the way. 
> 
> Everybody, go say thank you to those two.

It was a peaceful morning in the South Downs. The sky was a lovely shade of sulfur, the light of dawn mixing with the dark leftover clouds of the night's thunderstorm. Barefoot as she was Beelzebub went to their mailboxes. One of them being an atrocity in white and gold with a wing on each side of the name Smith. The other was a lovely old worn down black box, which had her chosen name on it in brass letters. It was made from wood and rusty nails. The peeling black paint most likely contained lead. 

No postman had ever laid a hand on these boxes, yet they constantly filled with letters from Heaven and Hell respectively, night and day, holidays included. 

"Hullo Bella." Someone called out to Beelzebub as she grabbed fistfuls of paperwork. "I can call you Bella, right?" Ah, Mrs Clarke. She probably had been waiting for her behind kitchen curtains. 

The Prince of Hell gave her a stern look. "No."

"Izabella, then." Mrs Clarke said with a hesitant smile and stepped closer to the black painted metal fence between their plots. 

"Certainly not." The demon said coldly. 

"Well, uhm, Misses Bu--"

Beelzebub crossed her arms. "_Miss._" 

Her neighbour was starting to fidget nervously but stood her ground. "Miss Bubenstein. I have to ask, could you be so nice--"

"No." She held up her hand and sighed. Thankfully, there was an archangel already looming by the door. "Babe, come here, you're good at being _nice_."

"Uhm?" Mrs Clarke watched the angel approach them, dish towel flung over his shoulder, grey trousers above his Birkenstock sandals and a lavender button-up shirt. "Morning, Mr Smith, I was just--"

He gave her a radiant smile and held out his hand in greeting. "Good morning, please, call me Gabriel."

Beelzebub bore her eyes down on Mrs Clarke's. "Don't." With that, she stepped back, letting Gabriel do the talking to and pampering of neighbours. Something about a uniform look or a theme for the street, concerning the makeup of their garden. She kept sorting the mail, filing letters between fingers to separate her's from the archangel's. It was all the same, notifications from the usual bothersome departments, complaint forms from morons, reports handed in by demons and angels on Earth. 

"Oh, Anthony, what lucky timing!" Mrs Clarke waved at the approaching man. "You could lend a hand with the garden, your's is so lovely."

"I will do no such thing, the soil here is _cursed_." The demon hissed. 

"Why are you here, Crowley?" The Lord of Flies asked, only granting him a quick glance and going right back to the mail. 

He tried to push his hands into his jeans' pockets to no avail. "Gabriel asked me to teach him to cook."

At that, he had her attention. She raised a questioning eyebrow at her angel. "Babe, explain yourself."

"Babe?" Crowley asked, grinning up at Gabriel.

"Yeah, she calls me that in front of, you know." _Humans._

The red-head leaned back, his smirk grew wider. "What does she call you in private?"

"Gabriel." The archangel said with a shrug.

"He's kidding, right?" Crowley looked at his former superior, who only rolled her eyes. "Is he kidding? He's not kidding."

"Why is he _here_?" Beelzebub demanded as she was handing a good portion of the mail to the angel. 

"Like he said, to teach me how to cook. I don't trust those instant foods and takeouts you eat, not with your current condition." Gabriel explained with a concerned yet soft shine to his purple eyes.

"Oh, are you sick, Ms Bubenstein?" Naturally, Mrs Clarke latched right onto the opportunity of gossip.

The two men-shaped beings looked at Beelzebub, none dared to utter a word. It was her choice.

"I'm pregnant." She said, inconspicuously leaning closer to Gabriel.

"Aren't you a little too old for that?" Mrs Clarke asked, no hesitation in her voice. 

The grass around the prince's naked feet singed, charred, leaving finest ash under her soles. She took a deep breath. She can't murder humans, not if she wanted to keep this cottage and the privileges that came with it.

"Babe. You handle this." She patted Gabriel's bicep, sparks of wrathful divine lightning prickling her fingertips, and went back inside. 

Crowley watched the archangel with glee.

  


  


"Do you want to know what the current theory about you two is?" Crowley suggested while poking around the kitchen, inspecting their pots and pans, the small collection of spices and herbs, utensils and bowls. 

"Sure." Beelzebub said, setting a letter on fire without even opening it.

"You're a filthy rich Jewish mafia accountant from Switzerland hiding in the South Downs." The demon explained, nodding in approval at a low pan perfect for crepes and omelettes. "Gabriel Smith, which is totally a fake name, is your American boy toy you picked up in a club and kept cause he's great in bed and keeps the house clean." 

Beelzebub snorted. "They are mostly right about Gabriel." 

"Bella, really?" The angel protested. 

"Don't look so offended." She blew him a crude kiss. "You're even learning to cook for me, what a catch. A woman's dream househusband."

"Don't call me that unless you marry me." Gabriel huffed as he was handed various spatula. 

"How often did you ask her by now?" Crowley inquired, not even trying to hide his schadenfreude. 

"I don't want to talk about it." He grumbled.

"Eight times." Beelzebub answered for him. "Nine, if you count that one time he didn't even have a ring."

"Why do you keep all the rings?" Gabriel asked, yet again. It didn't seem fair, but what did he expect, sharing his life with a demon. 

"One day, I'll have enough to melt them into something useful." The prince replied, stamping a letter with unnecessary violence. "Like a paperweight or a dagger."

"I could give you a dagger for engagement." Gabriel pouted. 

"I'm _not_ marrying you, knock it off."

"Why not?" Crowley couldn't help himself, he had to ask. 

"What's the point?" She shredded the next letter into pieces. "If he wants me to be with him forever, what do a ring and some paperwork have to do with that? Gabriel, you know I love you. You don't need some stuffy human tradition to _know_ that."

"Love you, too." The archangel mumbled and pouted some more, doing his best to focus on the recipe shown on Crowley's phone. 

  


  


"What's this?" Beelzebub asked as a plate was set on the stack of stained papers in front of her. 

"Breakfast." Gabriel supplied, then checked his watch. "Brunch. Oh come on, it doesn't look that bad."

"I thought we'd start simple." Their demonic guest added and pointed at the dish. "Pancakes. Not even _he_ can ruin pancakes."

"They are not sweet, though." Gabriel clarified when he saw her brow crease. 

Crowley wrinkled his nose. "He filled them with marmalade."

"The bitter orange jam?" The Lord of Flies asked, now obviously interested. 

"Yes." Her angel nodded, nudging the plate towards her.

She ignored cutlery and picked up a rolled pancake to take a bite. The angel seemed worried. She chewed, swallowed, then beckoned Gabriel closer. 

"It's good." She gave him a quick kiss. "Make me a dozen. And bring me some buttermilk."

He beamed at her. "As you wish."

"You're so whipped." The former agent of hell muttered as he followed the angel back towards the kitchen. Someone had to keep watch that Gabriel didn't burn the entire neighbourhood down. 

"You're one to talk." 

"If you start cooking for me, you better not miracle the ingredients." Beelzebub called from her desk. "I don't trust consuming that heavenly magic food. Go grocery shopping. Don't be cheap about it."

  


  


Gabriel was, undoubtedly, an angel. The common preconception of white-winged celestials is that they are kind, merciful and cuddly. If you had ever met Gabriel, you knew he was neither of those three things. 

Beelzebub, on the other hand, tended to cuddle after sex. Of course, it was only so Gabriel had to endure being sticky all over with bodily fluids, instead of jumping into the shower. Like jogging, sex filled his corporations' bloodstream with endorphins, which had to him quite the effect that caffeine had on humans. Therefore, using him as her personal pillow kept him from being a productive archangel, consequently thwarting Heaven. It had, if you asked the Prince of Hell, nothing at all to do with how good it felt to lie against that broad chest, warm and sticky, enjoying the afterglow of a heated tumble. 

Which is why there was now a demon in the archangel's lap. A naked one. And not just in his lap, but with his still hard cock buried flush inside her. He kept her there with his right arm on her back, fingertips caressing her spine between where her wings would manifest. His left hand was idly ticking off filled forms with purple ink, marking missing details before having the papers sent back for revision. 

"Are you sure this is comfortable?" He asked her, signing the current document. 

"Hmm." Beelzebub hummed, unmistakably feeling content. The sound made his cock throb. 

With a quick kiss to her temple, he pulled out the next sheet, silver pen making quick work of it. She kissed his neck, slowly moving upwards to lazily nip at his jawline.

"You're distracting me." Gabriel complained and landed a quick slap on her butt.

"_Demon._" She moaned into his skin and clenched around him. 

He might have to tire her out to get work done.

"Well, then." He neatly placed his stack of papers back in his to-do tray, lifted Beelzebub up on the table and didn't lose any time to rock deeper into her. 

"That's it, use your stupid angelic desk for sin."

"For _love_." He insisted and leaned on one arm, palm flat and fingers spread to steady himself on the polished white surface. His other hand held the demon's hip in place as he thrust into her. 

Beelzebub lay down, legs coming up to be wrapped around the angel's middle, a tap with her ankle demanding he picked up his pace.

Which he did, eager to please, eager to - "Oh, fuck, yes!" - hear _that_. He watched as she threw her head back after getting the angle just right. It wouldn't take long, not with her still being sensitive from their earlier round, he could see it in the way her abdomen shuddered. She gripped the desk's edge for leverage to pull herself against him, meeting every thrust with vigour. 

"Fuck, like that, _Gabriel_." He didn't need a petname. What for, when she could moan his real name so beatifically?

He heard pencils falling to the floor, papers flitting, a box of paperclips scattering. He didn't care, not when Beelzebub was coming apart around his cock, shivering and hissing as her back arched up.

"Come." She panted, breathless and high, after a hazy moment. To most, orgasm might be the climax of sex. To Beelzebub, a being of greed and gluttony, it was having her angel cum, feeling that cock pushed deep and twitch with every spurt. It was watching the very moment when he gave in to the bliss of his release, mind blank, focusing on nothing except her, his prince. 

Gabriel bent down, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Her hand carded through his hair as she kissed his cheek. 

"Good boy."

He _bit_ her.

  


  


Aziraphale came over the next morning to drop off a book on pregnancy before leaving for work. If anyone could call what he did in his antiques and book shop in Brighton work.

"As I've heard, Mrs Clarke will make quite the donation to the local kindergarten." The blond angel looked at Gabriel, who was mixing yoghurt and berries in a bowl.

"I that so." Was all he deemed to respond. 

"Yes. She'll be in a dreadful financial pinch, now that her plumbing has broken. In multiple places." He mustered his best judgemental glare for Beelzebub. 

"You don't say." She deadpanned, slurped her coffee, meeting his eyes with nonchalance.

Aziraphale sighed. It was no use with these two, you can't appeal to their morals if there were none to begin with. "Bella, dear, have you thought of seeing a doctor to know how far along you are?"

"No." She typed away on her laptop, a blocky thing covered in rude stickers. Gabriel placed the bowl next to it. She grabbed it and dug in without even looking at it, eyes skimming over her text. To Aziraphale's surprise, her face lit up shortly after. 

"Are those currants? I fucking love currants." She licked the spoon, no table manners whatsoever.

Gabriel looked so proud it made the former principality's skin crawl.

"You do realize how quickly time happens to pass for us, but there are only a few months to prepare for your little one." He waved haphazardly at her middle. 

She growled. "Fine. _Fine._" 

A responsible demon, what a disgrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Everything from here on out will be bound to copious amounts of research for me. I'm 33, happily married, no kids but three ferrets. I was born during a time where people stopped having children due to political and economic reasons, so I have very limited experience with babies and/or small children. 
> 
> All I know comes from questionable mpreg fanfictions I've read in the past two decades, ha. 
> 
> See you in the next one ♥


End file.
